


Once

by purrdri



Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 05:50:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15188186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purrdri/pseuds/purrdri
Summary: Though I've not touched Fallen London in a while, I wrote a bit of backstory for my player character that I'm still quite proud of. I figured it'd be best to post it somewhere besides my failing computer's hard drive.





	Once

Once, they didn’t hide behind a black honey-scented cloak.

Once, they were she. She was Eleanor Lynn Martin, nee Jackson, wife of Mathieu and mother of Jeanne and Amelia. Mother of Elise, too, but Elise was long, long lost.

Once, she was happily courted by a boy from Paris on the Surface, and she sold all her family’s possessions to afford immortality.

Once, there was a fire. A blaze that consumed and destroyed the shop and Mathieu.

Once, she wrote a letter and entrusted it and her daughters to her parents-in-law.

Once, she fled Paris for the safety of London and the Echo Bazaar.

Once, she bought a black cloak and used it as her mantle to start a new life.

* * *

The Shady Maiden found them in a spire of the Bazaar trying to brew a cup of tea. They answered, puzzled at first and completely forgetting to don their cloak. They realized this as they opened the door, but it was too late then.

A quiet noise came from the other side of the door. “Mother?”

No. It couldn’t be. Amelia was too young; Jeanne looked like her father. Elianoire closed the door.

“Your name was Eleanor Jackson!” cried the girl on the other side of the door. A sharp intake of breath, and Elianoire decided they’d at least hear the Maiden out. They sighed to brace themself and opened the door.

On the other side was the trembling Shady Maiden. She spat out the words before Elianoire could invite her in. “I’m Elise! I’ve been looking for you for a while, and I thought after your husband died-” here the usually-hooded figure flinched “-you’d want to go back home! And then you went to go home to London, but you couldn’t, and I worked at that shop you bought the cloak in! I tracked you down here, it took me a while but I talked to Mr Pages, and…” She trailed off there.

A moment passed where neither of them spoke.

“About three months ago, a girl came to me claiming to be my Elise. I believed her. She was a clever, clever actress. How do I know you’re real?” asked Elianoire, quietly and deliberately.  
  
“You don’t,” she replied. “But listen: I was born October 13th of 1875. You gave me to your best friend Jane Smith, and she told me what she knew of you. Where you were.” Here the girl paused, and Elianoire was starting to believe her. “I got a sip of Cider. Not much, but enough. I went to the Surface for a few days hoping to find you and found people begging me to give them answers instead. Jeanne looks just like Martin did. I’m sorry for your loss.” Elise paused again, and extended an arm out to Elianoire to shake, who took her hand and pulled her in for a hug. Elise was stiff at first. “Oh, Mother…” she whispered, and melted into their arms.

“I haven’t been called that in ages. Please. I haven’t been a good enough parent to deserve a title. Elianoire will do,” they said, turning their head down and pressing their face into Elise’s hair.

“If that makes you more comfortable.”

“Now come in. You’ve so many to meet.”

Barnabas the weasel chattered happily at Elianoire and Elise as they entered the spire proper, and he took an immediate shine to their daughter. More reluctant to come out was Bigby, the scarred weasel skittishly accepting Elise’s scritches. Behind him were Albion the salt-weasel and his beloved Lark, a celebrated singing weasel. Then there was Fitzgerald the dog, who greeted Elise with a burp of F. F. Gebrandt’s finest laudanum.   
  
A handful of other weasels played on the couch. Elianoire lovingly nudged them off and sat down.

“I have to confess, I never thought you’d be a, well, crazy weasel lady,” Elise remarked.

Without looking up, Elianoire picked up Barnabas and pulled him into their lap. “I am no lady,” they replied. “I’ve sacrificed the construct that is gender.”

“Apologies. Crazy weasel person.” As Elise corrected herself, Bigby hesitantly clambered into her lap, and she began to pet him.

“They’re quite good company,” said Elianoire. Bigby made a noise approaching a purr and Elise was inclined to agree.


End file.
